“Oh, so her eyes weren’t really green,” Adele said as I took the case back and put it with the other stuff. “The woman was a fake. I can’t believe I thought she was so great.”
Dinah pulled a copy of A Subtle Touch of Crochet out of the top box and thumbed through it. She stopped at the photo of Izabelle and examined it.
Adele looked at the picture from a distance. “Look at those cheekbones. I bet they’re fake. Maybe her chin as well. For sure the nose-and her lips, oh please.” She tossed her head in disgust. I thought it might just be Adele’s anger speaking, but when I looked at the photo, I had to agree.
“It’s as if she totally made herself over. I wonder what she looked like before all the work,” I said. I glanced at the photo again, this time checking out the surroundings. It appeared to have been taken in Izabelle’s craft room.
“That’s how I want my crochet room to look,” I said, pointing.
Dinah looked and laughed. “I bet they just fixed it up for the photo. She probably had grocery bags of yarn all over the place, like the rest of us. And blankets that just need the fringe, along with shawls waiting for the ends to be woven in. The doll and those stuffed bears are just in there for show.”
Adele had found the manuscript pages and made a loud squeal when she read the title.
“The Needle and the Hook,” she said in disbelief. “That’s what her fusion craft is. I can’t believe what a traitor she was on top of everything else. And not even that original. Other people have mixed knitting and crochet. But then I know she wasn’t really original. She stole my work. She probably stole other people’s, too.” With that Adele began rummaging anew.
“That’s it, ladies,” I said closing the book and putting it back in the box. “Time to go.”
The dining hall was buzzing when we got there. I had stowed Adele’s box by the registration materials in the administration building. Dinah and Adele went to different tables and found seats. I had asked the presenters to spread themselves around and more or less host their table. I was too tense to sit and circulated around, making sure everything was going okay.
Adele started talking crochet before she even hit the seat and was polling the people at her table to find out if they were crochet novices or experienced. She was using her hat and beads as examples of crochet embellishment.
Jym and Jeen Wolf, the knitting couple, were holding court at another table. The jeans and tucked-in tee shirts with clever sayings seemed to be their uniform. Jym appeared very animated and friendly. I envied their perfect posture. They passed around a mint green baby sweater as the iced tea circulated the other way. They both nodded a greeting as I passed. Jeen snagged me and whispered that Sergeant French had stopped her on the way to lunch to ask her a few questions about where she was during the s’more time and what her relationship with Izabelle was. “He’s convinced somebody was on the beach with her. Can’t you do something to get whoever it was to come forward, so he leaves the rest of us alone?” I told her I’d see what I could do.
Mason greeted me as I reached his table. I wondered if his tablemates had any idea of his day job. The kimono-style jacket and loose cotton pants hardly looked like lawyer wear. I heard a snippet of the conversation, which seemed to be about yoga versus tai chi. “In yoga,” Mason explained, “you hold a pose, while in tai chi, which incidentally is a martial art, you flow through poses almost like a slow-motion dance. Breathing is important in both of them.” It was obvious that Mason was serious about the tai chi. He really did make an effort to balance his life.
Dinah seemed even more energized as she talked to the group at her table. Her spiky salt-and-pepper hair seemed to exemplify her enthusiasm. She had been so excited about this weekend and working with people who wanted to be there instead of her usual freshmen who had to be present. I doubted she even noticed me go by.
Bennett had everyone at his table laughing. As I got close enough to hear what was going on, he was finishing an anecdote about his show. His group seemed to be hanging on every word. Not a big surprise, really; he was an actor, and being able to tell a good story was a given.
Sheila was at the last table. I felt for her when I saw the way her eyebrows were knit together. Being the host was not her kind of activity. But then this weekend had turned out to be a lot different than she’d expected. It was supposed to be a change from her busy life. But rooming with Adele and now helping her with the workshops were all pressure. Hesitantly, she showed off the scarf in shades of blues and lavender she was wearing. I knew right away it was one she’d made. The dreamy look similar to an Impressionist painting was as good as a trademark. It was no wonder she sold so many. Each one was different and exquisite. Miss Lavender Pants looked over from Bennett’s table and almost drooled over the scarf.
I leaned against the partition that separated the entrance area from the dining room after I passed Commander Blaine’s table. He was demonstrating how to make a swan out of one of the cloth napkins while talking about his workshop and how much fun it was going to be. He had everyone at the table abandoning their food and following along. I watched as he bustled around the table, coaching the napkin folders.
I was distracted by a ruckus at Adele’s table and went over to investigate. “I thought Izabelle Landers was supposed to be here,” a woman said to me as I approached.
I sighed and tried to explain in a concerned, hushed voice, but I’d said the same thing so many times it was impossible not to make it come out like a recording. The woman’s eyes widened with distress.
“What about her world premiere workshop? I love her Subtle Touch of Crochet and I was so looking forward to her new fusion craft. What with the fog delaying everything, this weekend just isn’t like the other years.”
“Trust me, you’re not missing a thing,” Adele interjected. I gave her a sharp look and took over.
“What Adele means is that the workshops she and Sheila are going to put on will be so exceptional you won’t feel like you missed anything.” The woman accepted the comment and Adele stared at me with her mouth open.
“Pink, thanks for the vote of confidence. You really mean it, right?”
I muttered a positive answer as I glanced up and looked out the window. I noticed the housekeeping crew pushing their cart down the walkway. I might be only an amateur sleuth, but I wasn’t giving up investigating. What was it Sergeant French had said when he was trying to convince me that the shadow in Izabelle’s room had been a crow? After the alleged bird had knocked the manuscript pages under the bed, he thought the cleaning crew had found them when they were doing the room and put them in an orderly stack on the night table.
Well, now was my chance to check it out. I left the dining hall and caught up with the crew down the walkway.
“Excuse me, but which of you did the rooms in Lodge?” I said. The group eyed me warily before two women put up their hands in acknowledgment. I suppose they were expecting me to complain or accuse them of something.
I did my best to short-circuit that fear by thanking them for the nice job on my room. The tension left their faces and they smiled.
“I wanted to ask you about another room. It had a stack of plastic containers with a lot of yarn.”
One of the women nodded. “The one with the already made bed. Yes.”
I didn’t want to tell her it was more accurately not slept in, because the resident was dead, so I just nodded as an answer.